


Inhibition

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-11
Updated: 2007-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Dean first sees her as a blur of movement, a flash of pale skin and dark hair and black leather in the dim garage...</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhibition

Dean first sees her as a blur of movement, a flash of pale skin and dark hair and black leather in the dim garage, and he's on the defensive without even thinking about it, machete in one hand and gun in the other, but she's not moving toward him. Soft but unmistakable, he hears the wet, sick sound of flesh being pierced, of something solid embedding in muscle and grinding against bone, and then she says, "Huh."

The only effect on the vampire is a trajectory change, his focus turned to her, and for a fraction of a second Dean's frozen in place, shock warring with instinct, and then he's moving, the machete slicing cleanly through the vampire's neck. It's the last of them, the nest quiet now, and he breathes easier as he turns to face what turns out to be one scorching babe.

He grins at her, his best pick-up smile, and there's no more thought involved in that process than in the killing blow he'd dealt just before. Shaking his head, he says, "Things ain't always like in the movies, sweetheart. You're lucky I was here to save you."

The tilt of her chin and lift of her eyebrow are disarming, and nearly as distracting as the low-slung black leather that hugs the planes of her hips. She steps forward and his gaze follows, tracing the line of pale skin bared by the hem of her tee-shirt.

"Yeah," she says with a laugh that doesn't really sound anything like amusement. "Real lucky."

The sweep of her leg catches him off guard, taking him off his feet and to the ground. He twists before he lands, the machete and gun skittering away as his elbow and hip impact the concrete floor hard enough to make his breath hitch. She straddles him, and he twists again to throw her off, but her thighs clench and he swears he can feel his ribs creak under the assault.

He eases back, hands coming up in a gesture of surrender. "My mistake," he says sincerely. "Obviously you can take care of yourself."

She doesn't relent, though, and the smile that curves her cherry-red lips doesn't reach her eyes. "Give Rambo here a shiny gold star," she says, settling herself back with a shimmy that grinds her ass against him better than the best lap-dance. Her smile widens as his dick twitches to life, and her hips fall into a steady rhythm, rocking against him.

"You've got a hell of a way with a mixed signal, you know that?" he says.

Her laugh is more genuine than her smile, and the rake of her short crimson nails on his sides is the most honest thing yet, a burning that shouldn't feel good but somehow does. He licks his lips, slowly slides his hands up under the hem of her shirt until her breasts are bared, watching her face like he'd watch the twitch of a bobcat's tail.

Somehow she writhes out of her pants without moving off of him, undoes his fly and frees his aching dick almost without him realizing. Dangling the black leather bracelet from her wrist, she meets his gaze squarely, challenge in her eyes. For a second there's absolute stillness, then she leans forward and, voice throaty and deep, murmurs in his ear, "Tell me you want it."

"Fuck." It's more an exhalation than a word, and he sucks in a breath. "Yes. Hell, yes."

Warm leather wraps tight around the base of his dick and balls, the metallic sound of the snap echoing in the silence, and then she sinks down on him, all tight wet heat and barely restrained energy. He strokes and kisses and bites wherever he can reach, drawing panting moans from her as she fucks herself on his dick and feeling the shudder run through her when she comes the first time, and the second and third. By the time she's on her fourth, they're both slick with sweat and Dean is aching to come, but he won't beg the way he knows she wants him to. After five, she pushes him back and he goes with it, propping himself on his elbows.

When she rocks forward and then back, though, slipping off his still-hard dick and coming to her feet in one smooth movement, he has to bite back on a growl of protest, and she's fastening her pants before he can pull himself together enough to form a coherent sentence.

"What about this?" He gestures at the leather band, not quite believing she's just going to walk away and leave him like this.

She turns, throwing a grin over her shoulder. "Keep it," she says. "It looks good on you."


End file.
